What Have I Done?
by Ao no Ryuu
Summary: A snag in their relationship... Complex and misleading thoughts... What happens when Prussia overreacts to an unhappy England?    Mature content inside, DL DR, BoyxBoy  First story, please be kind :


**A/N: Ok, so I am AdmiralAwesome's older sister, and have reposted this for you to read at your pleasure, and for you to hopefully enjoy more of my stories! Oh well, if you haven't read, enjoy, and if you have already read, enjoy some more! (if previously favourited, I would love it if you refavourited it! ;P) Please read and review, unless you don't like some of the more mature things, then it's a case of don't like, don't read… Gosh, I am so new to this so I might end up rambling a bit…**

**Anways, enjoy the read!**

What have I done? I could see the anger darkening his bottle-green eyes right before me, and I wondered why I had let myself do that. It was unusual, my retaliation to his actions, and I knew that it was uncalled for. For many an evening now, I had given him access to parts of me that should never been touched by foreign hands. I showed him my strengths and my weaknesses, while he had just looked on in his bored manner, occasionally letting free an animalistic anger, which soon became the part of those evenings that I had looked forward to.

But now I had done it. I had gone and angered him beyond the animal. And yet, I still remembered with such vivid clarity the events that led up to this.

'How many times will it take, Gilbert,' Arthur whispered, poison tainting his words. 'How many times do I have to repeat the question until you answer me in the right manner? Until you tell me the truth about you and that weasel Matthew?'

'Ok Arthur, you've fallen off your rocker, and I didn't even have to help you, but I don't know any Matthew, and if I did, I don't believe there would have been anything between us.' I lifted a hand to rest on his cheek, but even as my fingers brushed the smooth skin, he was swiping it away with a snarl.

'Of course, Prussia.' I froze. He hardly ever referred to me by my true name, the country that I had been. 'You don't know my sons brother, of course.'

Then the name registered in my head. Of course, it was Matthew, aka, Canada. Why had I not recognized the name before? But then again, the boy would never be remembered next to his idiotic, outrageous, obnoxious, and self-proclaimed 'hero' brother. It was like seeing two sides of a coin, those brothers' characteristics, Matthew being the quiet, unobtrusive, type.

'Oh, that Matthew,' I whispered, dropping my head, even though I could still see my partners straw-coloured hair through my own platinum hair.

'Yes, that Matthew,' Arthur hissed. Pushing me away from him, he strode towards the lobby, cute, bushy eyebrows furrowed in anger. I did not want him to leave, so, dropping the towels I had been holding, I raced after his receding back, catching him as he placed his hand around the door handle. Slamming into him, I shoved my hand against the door, over his shoulder, and panted into his ear, 'what is the accusation that is being placed against your sons brother, Matthew and me? At least give me the courtesy of telling me that much.'

I felt Arthur tremble underneath me, probably not wanting the intimacy, but I was not giving him more space until it was explained to me what I had done. He turned in the space provided, hand brushing dangerously high on my thigh, keeping his eyes mostly averted from my gaze, but I caught the quick look that flashed up at me from under heavy eyebrows and the thick fringe. After a moment, he looked directly into my eyes, telling me that he had been steeling himself for looking at me, and I saw the lustful hunger in his eyes, the anger, and a sad hue clouding over all of the other emotions.

'Did you and Matthew spend a night together? Did you... Did you do it?'

What? Did Arthur seriously think that I would spend the night with his 'son'? I was shocked at his accusation, and what I did next was almost certainly caused Arthur to respond in such a way. I pulled him by his collar as close as I could without hurting him too much, and kissed him. At first, he welcomed it, but when I began biting him, Arthur realized what was going to happen. He tried to push me away, but I was not ready to part yet. I was angered at the accusation, and I reacted in the worst possible way that I could.

Simply, I raped him.

I took out all of my pent up anger on him, crushing him to bits, tearing him, and inflicting as much pain as possible. I hate myself for what I did, and I will never forget how poorly I treated him, even though the memories are shrouded by a red veil, slightly faded in my minds eye. Every time I remember now, pain shoots through me, and I collapse in agony.

After I had finished with him, he had tipped over the edge. He dressed quickly, covering forming bruises, flinching at the pain that was probably lacing its way through most of his lower regions, all the while remaining dead silent. It was often hard to shut him up, but this time, neither of us said a word, and the silence was only interrupted when Arthur left, limping, slamming my front door behind him with enough force to shake the house. I'd done it now, and there was no picking up the pieces and fixing us. I'd promised him only one thing, and that was that I would never do what I had just done.

I was shocked out of my reverie when I heard the squeal of tires then the crack of the car smacking into something. I'd often heard the phrase 'my heart got stuck in my throat', but until then, I had never believed that it could happen. My heart leapt up into my throat, and stayed there. Oh no, please no, don't let it be true.

I set a new record for 100-meter dash that day, racing down my now too long front garden path to where I could see a crowd had gathered but no ambulances, yet. Stopping at the back of the group, I peered over their heads, hoping, praying, that the person was not whom I thought it was.

God was cruel to me that day.

Looking down on the broken form of my lover, I couldn't do anything but sob. I felt a couple of hands rub my shoulders, but when I looked to register faces, I saw only distorted features through the tears stinging my eyes.

I know countries cannot die, only disappear. I'm living proof. But it did not stop me from wondering if he was going to survive all this. He might come out the other end and have no clue as to who he is, and then where would England be? I did not dare contemplate it any further than that.

The next hour disappeared before me in a whir. The ambulance arrived, spiriting his mangled body away, while police rocked up to speak to witnesses. I was asked by one of the field nurses if I knew any family of Arthur's (I did not want America or Canada here at this time, I knew they would conclude things as to what might have happened), so I said that I was the closest thing he had to family here. With this, they took me with him and I was bumped, unceremoniously, all the way to the hospital. Once there, another hour passed as doctors raced about, checking Arthur's vital signs, asking me some questions, then finally wheeling him away into the emergency operating room. I was seated out in the ward, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, more pointless questions asked and wordlessly answered, and then, finally, left in relative solitude.

Events blurred together over the next week as I waited for him to wake up. I remember the doctor coming out and saying that it was a miracle he was going to live, and I had made some comment about how countries cannot die, confusing him. I remember burning of my eyebrows, but how, I do not. I remember lying flat on my face at the bottom of the stairs, pain spiking in my head, remembered falling down the stairs and landing, but not how I had fallen. In the end, all I remembered from that week was pain, and then, on the day he woke up, the worst pain of all.

I was called back into the hospital the second Arthur awoke. I arrived ten minutes and at least two speeding fines later. I was overly cautious of entering the ward, and even more so of looking at his face and him not recognizing me.

I curse my imagination and my ill luck when it comes to drawing ties with fantasy and reality.

Arthur Kirkland, my love, my life, and my being, did not recognise me. In fact, he even had the guts to call me his secretary. I could see the blank look of confusion when he was told that I was his family, and then felt my heart break when he said, 'My only family is that obnoxious American and his idiotic, weasel-like Canadian brother.' The doctors were confused at such a statement, but left, hoping that alone time would give us a chance to bond again. All it did was make Arthur hate me.

I left. I could not bear the pain that was blooming in my chest like a thorned rose. Painful, yet beautiful. I deserved every minute of pain I felt in that moment, and as I trudged out of the hospital, I felt tears falling down my face, and was met with a drizzle of rain, my mood dampened greatly.

I had broken his heart, and now, I was a forgotten man. I don.t know what my country would have looked like in that moment, but grey, dull, and rainy seemed to be the best way to fit it at that moment.

The only thought that swept through my mind as I trudged away from the hospital and back to my home, abandoning my car in the parking lot of the hospital, was a question that Arthur had begun asking me.

'How many times will it take to get it right?' How many times will I make this mistake until I find the right person for me? Only time will tell, and only broken memories will lie in my wake, a force so destructive that many will forget me, and hate me. All I want is to get it right.

Whatever it may be...

**P.S. going to be putting up a new fanfic sometime soon... Its a France x UK... I'm looking forward to putting it up**


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